Page 25 of Lady Louisa and the Carriage Clock
“She called him ‘spots,’ and for some reason, he thought the nickname originated with me.”
“My brother did have spots, as I recall.” She paused. “There has to be more to his animosity toward you.”
“He wasn’t happy I had no interest in the lady he thought so highly of. She was, and still is, a feather head.”
The lady across from him chuckled. “I hate to agree with you, but you’re correct. Beautiful but brainless.”
Cecil suppressed a grin. Being alone with the lady was having a strange effect on him. He sobered. “If you retain possession of the clock, you and your family may be in danger.”
“I will think about how I want to proceed,” she replied calmly. “Call on me tomorrow.”
“Is that your final word?” he asked in clipped tones.
“It is, Lord Wycliffe.” She rose to her feet, brushed by his chair, and walked to the door of her room.
He stood up. “My employee, Mr. Bones, will watch the house while you are in possession of the clock.”
“And has he been doing so before now?” she asked, an edge to her voice.
“He has.”
Cecil thought she looked more pleased than irritated by the idea, but he didn’t understand why.
“The terrace doors downstairs are unlocked, and your groom is asleep in the mews. Neither bodes well for your safety.” He bowed. “I’ll take my leave now. Good evening, Lady Louisa.”
* * * * *
Louisa waited several minutes before slipping out of her bedchamber and going downstairs to the drawing room. She locked the doors to the terrace and then returned to her bedchamber.
She spied her reflection in the Cheval mirror in her dressing room as she entered the space, candlestick in hand.
Her hair was down and curling in riotous abandon about her shoulders. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright. Louisa smiled softly at her reflection, raising fingertips to her mouth where Lord Wycliffe’s hand had rested.
She placed the candle on her dressing table, sat on the matching bench, and removed her stockings and garters. Lucy would grumble about her crushed dress, but there was no way Louisa could get her dress off alone. It was too early in the evening for her to ask the assistance of another maid without explaining why she was at home. She thought of the extra pair of hands that had been in her room moments before and blushed.
Returning to her bedchamber, she blew out her candle, pulled back the coverlet on her bed, and crawled under it.
Louisa squinted through the darkness at her clock. Lord Wycliffe hadn’t examined it at all before he left her room. Perhaps he’d been so shocked at her being in her bedchamber that she had rattled him. She smiled. It was nice to imagine that she had sent Cecil's world spinning, perhaps affected the viscount's equilibrium as he'd affected hers.
Closing her eyes, she tried to sleep, her thoughts returning again and again to what it had felt like being touched by the viscount, how it had felt being alone with him.
Lord Wycliffe would call on her tomorrow with Edith in tow. How much would Nathaniel tell Edith? The viscount must surely know that she would tell Edith everything she'd learned tonight.
As for her brothers and parents, she didn't want them to comprehend the significance of her clock. At the very least, her father would make her get rid of the timepiece. Another consequence might be her removal to the countryside, without the clock, for her safety.
Although it couldn't be helped, Leopold would not be happy with Lord Wycliffe visiting the house. Such a visit might arouse his suspicions. She would have to set the stage for her disenchantment with the clock at breakfast tomorrow.
Louisa had expected a timepiece with obvious clues to the riddle, so it might not be too difficult to convince her family of her disappointment.
Closing her eyes, she realized her stomach discomfort had disappeared. Now the only thing keeping her awake was the memory of being alone with Lord Wycliffe in her bedchamber.
Chapter Nine
“You want to involve my wife in this mischief, Cecil?” Nathaniel frowned darkly.
Edith smiled softly at her husband. “Darling, this is important.”
Seated in Nathaniel’s drawing room, Cecil observed the couple: a worried husband and a wife who would make up her own mind about what she would or would not be involved in.
